So Far From God

by John Harris

  There were more skirmishes in a dozen places but Villa’s guerillas were never rounded up and, with Horrocks watching the border, Slattery was finally ordered back to Mexico City. When he arrived, Atty, who had gone ahead, was camped out on the doorstep of his apartment with all his luggage.

  ‘She’s back!’ he said furiously. ‘She’s in the house. I had to move out. And Turner the printer’s been arrested.’

  Slattery’s head jerked round. ‘What for?’

  ‘What he always expected to be arrested for. Printing dough. He went to his shop on Saturday afternoon when the Mex workmen were having a day off and saw plates and blocks on the bench he didn’t recognise. They were for forged currency. There was also a stack of forged notes.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Carranza’s decree gives the death penalty for forgers and Turner was scared.’ Atty grinned. ‘I would be, too. If there’s one thing the Mexes are good at it’s executions. He grabbed the plates and the forged notes, locked them in the safe and headed for his brother’s as fast as he could for advice. While he was there, the feller who’d made the forgeries returned and found everything gone. He was terrified, too. Only mebbe he kept his head better. He went to the police and denounced Turner before Turner could denounce him. Turner’s going to be shot on Monday. His brother’s scared because he thinks he’ll get shot, too. I reckon you’d better see the British Minister.’

  The British Minister wasn’t very happy about the situation but promised to do what he could and, although the day was Sunday, he eventually emerged from the prison governor’s office to tell Slattery he had obtained a reprieve.

  ‘But Turner’s not released,’ he pointed out. ‘It’s up to you now to find out who is guilty, because he won’t be released until you do.’

  ‘Atty,’ Slattery said. ‘You’ve got a job.’

  It took two days of leaning heavily on a number of jobbing printers employed about the city to discover exactly who had been responsible, and Slattery and Atty were waiting at the prison as Turner was released. Beside himself with relief, his brother swept them all to Sylvain’s to celebrate.

  ‘We shall never forget you,’ he said. ‘And we have something for you in return. I work for the Mexican Telegraph Service and I have noticed that Mr Sjogren, the assistant to the Swedish chargé d’affaires, has been visiting the telegraph office far more often lately than the relationship of Sweden with Mexico would seem to warrant. Does it mean something?’

  It didn’t take long to find out that the flurry of telegrams was because the Swedish chargé d’affaires was fishing for a German decoration and that Eckhardt, the German Minister, was actually requesting one for him.

  ‘Well, we know the Germans like to hang things all over themselves until they look like Christmas trees,’ Slattery mused. ‘But why one for a Swede?’

  Atty went to work at once and came up with the answer within days. ‘The German Minister’s handin’ messages for Berlin to the Swedish chargé d’affaires,’ he said. ‘And Sjogren’s havin’ them transmitted to their Foreign Office in Stockholm. From there, they’re being sent to Berlin.’

  Knowing was another small advantage, but the mood in the office in Mexico City remained gloomy. The Germans never let up. There was a new group down in Cuba who were worrying them. Who were they, and why were they there? They were like lice crawling out of the woodwork. What were they up to and were this latest lot officers or agents? And what the hell was Berlin expecting to get from them?

  When he appeared, Horrocks expressed himself pleased with what they had achieved, nevertheless. He seemed to spend a lot of time these days north of the border chiefly in Washington, leaving Mexico to Slattery. He tossed a sheet of paper on to Slattery’s desk. ‘Passed on from London,’ he said. ‘It’s an intercept. From the German Minister in Mexico to Berlin. Via Sjogren’s Roundabout.’

  ‘Something must be done to move the Mexicans,’ the message read. ‘We are constantly thwarted by British and American officials. We need something of great moment to make the Mexicans know we mean business?

  ‘You appear to have been more successful than you imagined,’ Horrocks said dryly. ‘We don’t seem to achieve much and the old Hun keeps givin’ us a bloody nose but, despite all that, we seem to be harassing him more than we thought. They’ve even started sending their messages from Washington to Berlin on the American cable.’

  Slattery’s jaw dropped. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Fact,’ Horrocks said. ‘As you know, up to now they’ve been using the wireless station on Long Island but that’s under American censorship, and Sjogren’s Roundabout is probably too slow, so the German Ambassador complained that, though Berlin’s eager to support Wilson’s proposals for peace, they’re unwilling to submit confidential terms through Long Island because there are too many leaks. On the advice of some half-baked ass, Wilson agreed to them using the State Department cable.’ Horrocks smiled.

  ‘London’s reading everything they send. And they’re not all about peace. Sooner or later they’re going to put their foot in it. All we have to do is wait.’

  Five

  The fact that Magdalena was in the city and not far away was unsettling. Try as he might, Slattery couldn’t put her out of his mind.

  For a long time, he considered what to do and in the end he went to the house in the Avenida Versailles. Jesús opened the door. His months in New York had made him a man. He was well-dressed, smart and clean and was speaking good English.

  ‘Hello, Jesús,’ Slattery said. ‘Can I come in?’

  Jesús looked nervous. ‘My instructions, sir,’ he pointed out, ‘are that you mustn’t.’

  ‘From Doña Magdalena?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How is she, Jesús?’

  ‘She is very well, sir. The show was a success. It is still running but she has left the cast because a new show is being lined up for her next year and she felt she needed a rest.’

  ‘And you?’

  Jesús smiled. ‘I am a sort of agent, sir. I attend to small things. Eventually I shall do bigger and more important things.’

  ‘I’m very pleased for you, Jesús. What does she feel about me?’

  Jesús’ face fell. ‘She never mentions you, sir.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Once, sir. Her brother, Don Fausto, came to see her. There was a lot of anger. I didn’t hear what happened but I caught some of it. She told him she was finished with you.’

  ‘What did he want, Jesús?’

  ‘It was about me, sir. He was telling her she had no right to allow me to take her name.’ The boy’s face was troubled.

  ‘He said no dirty Mexican was going to be part of her family. Sir, I am not dirty–’

  ‘Go on, Jesús.’

  ‘He kept saying, “We are Germans, and Indians have no part in our affairs.”’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I believe he’s here, sir. In Mexico City.’

  ‘And Doña Magdalena?’

  ‘Lunching with El Señor Stutzmann. He’s given up everything to act as her business manager. He says his voice is going and he is growing too fat to play leading parts. He says she should go back to New York.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He thinks she is no longer popular in Mexico.’

  There was no response to the message Slattery left for Magdalena. It was difficult to follow what she was up to because the Mexican newspapers were suddenly ignoring her, and Slattery sought out Stutzmann, who had set himself up in a new office near the Cathedral.

  He looked nervous but he was far from unwilling to talk. ‘She can be launched on a great career,’ he said.

  ‘Does she want a great career, Hermann?’ Slattery asked.

  ‘All performers want a career.’ Stutzmann sighed. ‘She is very much loved in New York.’

  ‘But not here any more?’

  Stutzmann shrugged. ‘Mexico loved her because she was a Mexican. But when she went to New York
, they felt she sold herself to the Yanquis.’

  ‘Can’t you tell them the truth?’

  ‘With the country invaded by American soldiers?’ Stutzmann’s hands went to his face and the splayed fingers made valleys in his plump cheeks. ‘Perhaps success is not what she wants.’

  ‘What else could she want, Hermann?’

  Stutzmann’s shoulders moved again. ‘If I knew, I might be able to make her happy. It certainly isn’t me.’

  Carranza was now lording it over the Mexican capital with a government that grew increasingly corrupt, and it wasn’t difficult to see his closeness to Eckhardt, the German Minister, because they were meeting quite openly in his office in the National Palace.

  ‘That feller Sjogren’s the contact,’ Atty said.

  ‘What’s he after?’ Slattery asked.

  ‘Somebody’s after something, me dear,’ Atty agreed. ‘The Union of German Citizens ain’t paying out six hundred dollars a month for nothing.’

  ‘How do you know they’re paying out six hundred dollars a month?’

  Atty touched his nose and Slattery didn’t argue. There were times these days when he felt Atty knew more about the job than he did himself.

  ‘One of the bank clerks told me,’ Atty explained. ‘’Tes related to a relation of Pilar’s he is.’

  ‘Is everybody related to Pilar?’

  Atty’s face was blank. ‘Mexicans have big families,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the money for? Arms?’

  ‘Not when ’tes paid to the Minister of Telegraphs.’

  Across the Atlantic little changed. In Britain Lloyd George had become Minister of Munitions and in Germany a man called Arthur Zimmermann had become Foreign Minister. In America both were considered good choices – Lloyd George because his appointment meant more shells for the allies, and more shells for the allies meant more business for America; Zimmermann because he was a self-made man and because he was considered a good friend of the United States.

  But German agents were still busy and a report from the border indicated that the German consul was financing a group of Germans meeting in Juárez. Sinister rumours seemed to be coming from all sides at once and now they began to pick up word of something called the Plan of San Diego.

  ‘What is it?’ Slattery asked. ‘Another political manifesto?’

  Word of the plan, whatever it was, was enough for Atty to disappear on one of his unexplained jaunts into the back streets and eventually a message was brought by a small boy to say he would turn up at Slattery’s flat late that night.

  It was in the early hours of the morning when he appeared, to usher in a Mexican whom he introduced as Manuel Orriosca. The Mexican was a minor clerk in the office of the German Minister but his daughter had married an American and now lived in San Diego, California, where he hoped eventually to join her.

  He was dressed for the occasion in stiff collar, spats and slicked-down hair, and he was nervous, but he produced a crumpled carbon covered with typing in Spanish. It contained references to the German consul in Monterrey and was addressed to the German Minister in Mexico City. He had found it in the wastepaper basket and had noticed it because of the name on it.

  ‘He’s trying to learn all he can about San Diego for when he joins his daughter,’ Atty explained.

  Slattery’s eyes widened immediately because the carbon contained the details of the Plan of San Diego they were seeking. It outlined a scheme for a revolution to be started in Texas with German arms and support, which was to spread across New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Colorado and Oklahoma. It would establish the former Mexican territory as an independent republic populated by Mexicans, negroes and Indians, which would eventually affiliate with Mexico itself and finally assist the negroes of six more southern United States to revolt and set up a purely negro country.

  ‘This is political dynamite,’ Slattery said. ‘Who wrote it? Graf?’

  ‘There’s been no sign nor sound of Graf for a long time now, me dear,’ Atty pointed out. ‘He probably got shot at Columbus.’

  ‘He wasn’t among the bodies we found.’

  Atty shrugged. ‘Somebody got Scheele there.’

  The following day’s newspapers brought news of a vast new battle taking place in France where thousands of men were dying for a mile or two of shell-torn ground along the River Somme.

  ‘Only one way we can win this war now,’ Atty decided gloomily. ‘And that’s with American troops. Which is why the bloody Germans are trying to get them into a war with the Mexicans.’

  ‘After five years of revolution,’ Slattery growled, ‘if there’s one thing Mexico doesn’t need it’s a war.’

  The discovery of the Plan of San Diego came to little. It stank of the century-old hatred of the Mexicans for the gringo, but there was little doubt it was German-inspired and despite the efforts of Midwinter and Horrocks Washington refused to move because it had not come from any official German source.

  As the Plan of San Diego vanished into limbo a new danger appeared. With the war become a stalemate, the only chance for the Germans was to unleash their submarines in an unrestricted campaign against world shipping. Then as the threat began to increase, information arrived that all German residents remaining in the United States who were reserve officers or NCOs in the German army were to register at their consulates.

  ‘To make up the losses on the Somme?’ Slattery asked.

  ‘More’n’at,’ Atty commented. ‘they’ve been ordered to register here. In Mexico. It concerns us, not them in France.’

  The signs were growing ominous when a telegram arrived in code from Naval Intelligence in London. It quoted a Berlin message directed to Mexico City via Germany’s Washington Embassy. ‘Regret failure San Diego Plan. Appreciate British activity. Major plans afoot Mexico.’ London was wanting an explanation.

  ‘What major plans?’ Slattery asked. ‘And how did Berlin learn about San Diego? Their transatlantic cable was cut in 1914 and there isn’t a wireless transmitter in Mexico powerful enough to send across the Atlantic.’

  Atty grinned. ‘Mebbe that’s what the Union of German Citizens are paying the Minister of Telegraphs for, me dear,’ he said.

  Finally, a darker note appeared. Atty heard that Carrancista troops were taking up strategic positions along the lines of communication of the Punitive Expedition in Mexico, with orders to fire on any units moving in any direction but back to the border.

  ‘Where did you hear this?’ Slattery asked.

  Atty touched his nose. ‘Feller I know in the Mex army,’ he said mysteriously. ‘It’s supposed to be a move to finish Villa off, but you can believe that if you want to.’

  Slattery didn’t argue. Atty’s information was invariably reliable and, whether he obtained it by bribery, blackmail, drink or threats, it was rarely wrong.

  ‘There are ten thousand of ’em near Juárez,’ Atty pointed out. ‘At a place called Villa Ahumada. We have British nationals with land up there so we’ve got a good enough excuse to stick our nose in. If I was you I’d arrange to nip up to El Paso and see ’Orrocks.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Slattery said. ‘We’ll both go.’

  Six

  As they waited at the Northern Station they bumped into Consuela Lidgett. She looked thin, shabby and suddenly no longer very prosperous. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She carried a battered suitcase and there was a taut sense of anger about her.

  ‘I’m looking for Fausto,’ she said immediately. ‘His wife was killed, you know. The hacienda was raided and she got shot. I reckon he shot her. He was tired of her. Either way she’s dead.’

  ‘Does that mean he’s free to marry you, Consuela?’

  She gave Slattery a bitter look. ‘Not me. That damn German baroness. Her husband was killed at Celaya, so she’s free. He said he was going to marry me. He said it would be the first thing he’d do.’

  She opened her handbag for him to see inside. It contained
a revolver.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘It’s for Fausto.’

  ‘For his use?’

  ‘Yes. To kill him.’

  Slattery was silent for a moment. She was obviously in a state of high tension. ‘Is he still around?’ he asked.

  ‘You bet he is. He kicked me out. You know that? They made him a vice-consul and he said I didn’t match up to the job. He told me I was a whore. How about that? Who made me a whore?’

  She accepted several banknotes with tears in her eyes and, as her voice trailed miserably away, she lit a cigarette and dragged the smoke down hungrily. ‘He went north, in case you’re interested,’ she went on. ‘His sister went north, too. But not with him. I hear she’s doin’ okay. I’m glad for you, Paddy. There’s no harm in her, but if I thought he’d suffer I’d wish her dead. She’s gone up to Chihuahua to put flowers on the grave of his wife. Because he never has.’

  Horrocks and Midwinter were in Chihuahua when Slattery arrived.

  The whole of north Mexico was nervous. Far from destroying Villa, Wilson’s Punitive Expedition had made him a countrywide hero. The Americans had badly misjudged his influence. He wasn’t just the bloodthirsty savage the Carranza propagandists liked to portray. He was a born leader of considerable native intelligence with a compassion for the poor, and the groundswell of support that followed his victories, minor as they were these days, made him even stronger. All Wilson’s Punitive Expedition had achieved was to make more powerful the hatred of the Mexicans for the Americans who were harrying Villa, and the American military leaders were now urging caution on their local commanders rather than the aggressiveness with which they had entered Mexico.

  Chihuahua City was edgy and it occurred to Slattery that Magdalena might find herself faced with hostility. For some time he debated warning her with himself but when he finally went to the house in the Avenida Pacheco, Victoria, the housekeeper, informed him she had taken a car to Villa Ahumada and beyond to Carrizal.